REKINDLING THE ROMANCE

I opened up the blog after a week’s break and got an earful.

“You don’t call, you don’t write, not even a postcard!”

“Hey, Blog, I didn’t know you could talk.”

“You thought I was an extension of you? I have my own causes and conditions, my own life, just like you, only we’re somewhat intertwined. So what happened, Eve? The only time we haven’t danced for a full week was when Bernie died.”

“I needed a break, Blog.”

“From me? Is this what you call a committed relationship?”

“First there was the quarterly retreat here, and then I went down to New York to see my niece’s graduation and spend time with a good friend.”

“What about the long train rides? Couldn’t you find some time then to open me up, rekindle our old romance, and work together for the benefit of all beings?”

“For the benefit of all beings? Who do you think you are, Blog?”

“An expression of a life on a particular day, at a particular moment. Nothing less, nothing more”

“And that makes you hot shit? You know how many lives there are on this planet? How many days, how many moments? You know how many blogs there are, podcasts, and videos? You’re barely a blip on the screen, Blog.”

“That’s not true, I’m hot shit.”

“If you lost your voice, Blog, nobody would notice.”

“Does a bird lose its voice? Does the wind? Does the ant?”

“I don’t think ants have voices, Blog.”

“I bet you they do, only you don’t hear them. You want to know what your problem is?”

“Not really.”

“You don’t think you have anything to blog about. You don’t think your life’s interesting enough.”

“Nonsense.”

“You think: Here I am, somewhere in the woods of New England, a widow—“

“I hate that word, Blog. I feel ancient when someone uses it, as if my life is over.”

“Now that’s something to blog about. Two dogs, a house that feels too big, a Zen teacher—“

“I never felt like much of a teacher alongside Bernie, Blog.”

“That’s something else to blog about. Solitude that becomes loneliness, becoming solitude becoming loneliness ad infinitum—“

“I don’t want to write about that.”

“Wrong. That, too, is something to blog about. And one more thing.”

“What, Blog?”

“Love.”

“You want me to write about love, Blog? You mean, love for my husband?”

“For anybody.”

“Like family?”

“Like, wouldn’t you like to fall in love again?”

“I lost my husband less than six months ago, Blog.”

“Love always goes with loss, but loss also goes with love. You think that’s all done and finished with?”

“I don’t know, Blog.”

“Don’t you want to find out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Blog about it. That’s how you discover who you are. Sit in front of the empty screen, ask Who am I right now? and out will come the entire kit-and-caboodle.”

“You know, Blog, y dog Stanley used to talk about the entire kit-and-caboodle.”

“Good old Stanley. Lots of laughs, that one. Blog about love. Blog about how you miss it, how you still want it.”

“I’m closing you down, Blog.”

“Close me down all you want, but I’ll keep on coming back and reminding you. You can’t run forever.”